Love Of The Horror
by mAkeNna.bLaCk
Summary: She loves the fear. She loves the screams, the looks of pain, her victim's final breaths. She's a killer already, as a human... so what happens when she becomes a vampire? Okay, so the sucks. That doesn't mean the story does too.


Love Of The Horror

Chapter One

I watched the bustle of life from behind the café window, loathing them, how oblivious they were, hating those simple smiles and rhe sounds of their laughter.

Right now, my eyes were fixed on my next victim.

She looked nineteen, or not far from it, with carefully styled and bleached blond hair that wa startgin to turn dark at the roots, with bright sparkling eyes. She ws walking with a man who looked slightly older than her, probably her boyfriend, or a close friend.

These weren't the things I watched. No- I was watching the part of her mind that created her worst nightmares. I was watching her most terrifying dreams and memories, the ones where she'd woken up screaming, in blackness and hadn't been able to sleep for hours.

I stood up fluidly, hearing the beanpole of a waitress as she gave a relieved sigh. I turned to her, glaring, feeling the familiar flash of pleasure as I watched a slight spasm of fear flit across her face. And then I walked out.

Hello. My name is Isabella D'lacy, and I kill people.

My life has been a hellhole since the minute I learned to truly appreciate the fact. I grew up watching my mother get beaten until the day she died, when she committed suicide. My father was an alcoholic with anger issues, and was my living niht mare until I turned eight, the day I killed him with a jagged piece of glass out of the already fractured windowpane.

That moment, when I watched him die, watched the blood slowly seep across the floor, was the first time in my life that I felt a sense of happiness.

When the police came, I said that he'd smashed a window, and the glass had ricocheted of the wall and had cut his throat by chance. They believed me- for who could doubt a small, innocent child?

I was put in an orphanage. St. Hilda's Orphanage For Young Ladies. I resented the place, the matron as she spoke comforting words to me every time I had a tantrum, and the girls whose lives had been nothing but simple stories compared to mine.

They left me alone, those girls, playing with their stupid dolls, and skipping ropes. I could tell that they were afraid of me. I didn't care. It suited me just fine. While the matron encouraged me to make friends, I clawed at anything that came near me, or anything alive, at least.

On my first year, I stole pasta sauce from the kitchens, and corn flour, and made a substance like blood. I hung all their dolls from the top bunks, cut their hair into disarrayed clumps and gouged out their eyes, before dripping the fake blood all over them.

When everyone in my dormitory woke up, the shrieked like the defenseless cowards they were. How I loved the sound.

And then I started school for the first time in my life. The orphanage didn't have enough money to hire a proper teacher, so in the mornings Matron would come and wake all the schoolgirls up, and we'd all walk to the local school.

I sat at the back of the classroom, head bent, refusing to learn anything. On my first day, I filled in a whole sheet of parchment with black ink from the well in the corner of my desk. The teacher asked me to start working, and do the math on the board, and I started inking the desk, too.

I remember her tearing the quill out of one hand, and grabbing my other one, digging her fingernails into my skin as she pulled me up to the front of the classroom, where she got a white cane off the top shelf.

I didn't cry out. I didn't sob- I just glared at her and everyone watching, until blood ran down my arm and she stopped. I sat down when she did, and watched as she put the cane back on the top shelf, vowing to one day use it back on her.

At lunchtimes they kicked us outside, onto the concrete yard out back. There was a big brick wall half way across it, and you could hear boys across it, on their side of the school. I sat with my back against it, and watched girls play hoops and ropes and hopscotch and all their other stupid games.

No one ever adopted me from the orphanage. Whether this was because I hid from them and had to be dragged into the room for interviews, or because when I was finally sitting in the matrons office, I would say nothing and merely glare a the unfortunate parents, I didn't know. All I knew as that they all was picked the small, pretty little girls with blond pigtails, never me with my raven black hair and scowling face.

And so I was left, with a whole pile of younger girls in the dormitory. I didn't notice the difference so much as I grew older. I only noticed how irritating they were, the girls at school who were my age, and the stupid little orphans.

At thirteen, I'd had enough of a particular one, Gemma. I grabbed the six-year old and wrapped her own skipping rope around her neck, trying to choke the annoyingness out of her. Matron had come at the screaming, asking what all the noise had been. I told her that we'd been playing skipping, and Gemma had got the rope caught around her neck.

They were all too terrified to contradict my lies, and Matron left.

I dreamed other people's nightmares for them, attacking them with long knives, tying them up and slowly slitting their wrist so red was the only color anywhere…

That was just one of my normal dreams. I was afraid of nothing, not the Matron, the teachers at school, spiders or bugs, anything. I was the one who handed out the fear, not the one who succumbed to it.

I told horror stories to the youngest orphans, of how their dead parents were going to come back form the dead and murder them for revenge, or hid dead mice under their pillows…

Their screams were beautiful, though they always called Matron running. She began to automatically look to me whenever she came into the room, and then would dither over the one who had screamed, throwing out the dead creatures, soothing them, telling them that the stories weren't true… that God would protect them from anything.

I watched her fussing over the terrified children, and she reminded me of my mother.

That was not a good thing. My mother had been a liar. She had said she would always be their to protect me from my father, but then had killed herself and left me at his mercy.

At night, I began to sneak outside, into the dark streets. That was where I got my true education in life. School didn't teach me, but watching ladies flinch in terror as a dark figure came round the corner, or at drunken men… that was better than arithmetic, writing, reading.

On the evening I turned fourteen, I was called to Matron's office.

She told me that I was disturbed, morbid, and that if I wasn't adopted by the end of the year, she was turning me out of the orphanage, unless I could change my attitude, and stop scaring the youngsters with tales of blood and death.

When I got back to the dorm, I found the girl who had told on me, taped her mouth shut, and beat her, in front of everyone. Then I ripped the tape away from her mouth, and went to sleep.

I moved schools, to one where all the older children went. There was no wall here, and the school wasn't split into the boys' half and the girls' half.

I discovered males.

They were rowdy, loud, disgusting, irritating and afraid of nothing. When I glared at them, they laughed at me, and pulled my black hair. When I sat alone at lunchtimes in the furthest corner from the main building, they came and insulted me.

I ignored them, but at night, they starred in my dreams.

A new boy came, and he was charming. All the girls liked him, all the boys were jealous.

Whereas I, I didn't care. It was just another nuisance to pick on me and throw rocks. I sat still in the corner staring at the concrete…

_I stared at the concrete, grey shrieks echoing delightfully in my mind. I imagined Matron, her stupid white hat soaked red, as she sobbed in horror at all the dead orphans lying around her…_

_A pair of brown shoes appeared in the square of concrete that I was looking at. I glared up through my eyelashes, at the stupid idiot of a boy._

"_Hello." He said in a tone of voice that no-one had ever spoken to me in before._

_I looked back at the concrete, trying to ignore the scuffed pair of shoes._

_He sat down, crossing his legs, and watched me for a while. I looked back up, scowling._

"_I'm Simon." He said, grinning under his light brown hair. _

_I didn't pay any attention._

"_Hey." He said waving a hand in front of my face. "What's your name, beautiful?" _

_I glanced at him in disbelief. What the hell was he thinking? He was older than me… probably by almost a year, and he was handsome, except for…_

"_Yeah."he touched his hand to the ugly white scar. "My…mother, did that to me when I was eight. Fucking lunatic, she was."_

_I watched his scar thoughtfully, blinking slowly. "Why?" I asked, flicking my dark fringe out of my eyes. _

_He shrugged. "Dunno. I guess I'd done something he didn't like much, all I remember is the knife. Rusty old carving knife from the kitchen cabinet."_

_He smiled at me. "You've got quite a few scars too." He said, taking my arm from my leg. "How'd you get this one?" he asked, trailing his finger up my arm from wrist to elbow. _

"_My father threw the fire poker at me." I said, watching his tanned fingers. "Hurt like hell." _

"_What happened to him?" he asked, still tracing the scar. He didn't seem to care that I'd sworn, unlike some would have. He'd sworn himself, before._

"_I killed him." I said easily, assessing his reaction to this._

_He jut smiled slightly. "How?"_

"_Big bit of glass. I knifed him with it."_

_His brown eyes searched my face, and he let go of my arm. "That was brave."_

_I smirked. "Hardly- he was stone drunk at the time."_

_He looked back at his arm. "My bet is you have more scars like that."_

_I nodded, smiling slightly, lifting my blouse up to show the puckered, ugly line that went all the way up my stomach._

_He reached out touching it, and let out a low whistle. "Does it ever hurt?" he asked softly. _

_I shrugged, his hands making me nervous. "Sometimes."_

"_does this hurt?" He asked, trailing his finger lightly up it._

_I shook my head._

"_How far up does it go?" he said, in a low voice._

_I lifted my top over my chest. He traced the line all the way to the top of my neck. "Does this hurt?" he asked._

_I shuddered as he cupped my breast, but shook my head…_

Simon became my boyfriend. He was good for me, and behaviour 'improved', though the dreams continued.

I thought he cared about me. I told him everyhting, about the screams, the nightmares, my father. I let him touch me, even though a small part of me knew that it was wrong.

Matron was surprised by my change of attitude, and didn't kick me out, as she'd threatened. She encouraged me to spend time with him, and began to look at me like she was waiting for word of proposal.

However, when I was almost sixteen, that good part of me tht she saw hope of, vanished forever as my life changed again.

Simon dumped me. He said I was too messed up, that it just wasn't working. I realised that it wa just an excuse. He'd never loved me- he'd just taken advantge, and now he was bored of me.

It tore me apart again, and I wanted him to suffer for it. I wanted him to be terrified of me, creaming like a little girl.

I snuck out of the orphanage, a knife hidden up my sleeve, and went ot his house. I snuck in through the back window, as I'd watched him do o many times.

_He was lying on his bed, his room dark, the lights all out. I creaed across the wooden floorboards, and he jolted upright._

"_Who's there?" he demanded. "Dad?"_

_I stood in the corner of the room, and then started to move towards him._

"_Isabella?" he said, his eyes widening a my appearance. "What are you doing here- how'd you get in?"_

_I pulled out the rusted, jagged carving knife. _

"_Isabella, what-"_

_He choked off as I smile slowly spread across my face. He got off his bed. He was wearing a worn pair of pants, and a white nightshirt. _

_He held up his hands_. "Isabella_." He said, catiously, slowly. "Put down… the knife."_

_I took a step forwards._

"_Hey, look, I know that you must be feeling bad right now-but you seriously don't want to do this-"_

"_Oh, don't I?" I mocked, watching him back away slightly._

"_Isabella-please don't do this. Look, I only did what I did because that's what my friends told me to do, they were startgin to talk abou-about doing things to you, bad things-Isabella, please!"_

_His voice shook slightly, and he grabbed a walking cane from the floor by his closet, and held it up protectively._

"_Don't make me hurt you, Izzy. You know I don't want to."_

_I smiled. "You already have." I took another step._

_He lashed out with the cnae, and I was dim;y aware of the pain. But I was more focused on the desperate expression on his face to feel it yet._

_I raised the knife and he ducked, so I brought my foot up, and kicked him hard in the groin. I'd learnt enough about males to know that this was a none failing way to make them incapitated. He collapsed, and I tied him to the wooden bedpost, and then raised the knife again._

_He thrashed. "Please, Isabella…" he begged._

_I grabbed his arm, and drove the knife from his wist to his elbow. He yelled, and I quickly put a knife over his mouth, as blood bagan to seep across the floor._

_I placed my thumb on the deep cut, right over the cut artery, and pressed hard. Through his moaning, I whispered to him._

"_Does this hurt?"_

_Then I slowly made a shallower cut along his stomach. Even in the dark, I could see the dark stain spread across his white shirt, and pressed my hand across his heart, where the cut was deepest._

"_How about this Simon?" I whispered. "Does this hurt?"_

_His eyes rolled back into his head a little, and I slapped him, hard, across the face. I wanted him awake, not slumped in a faint. His eyes were alight with fear, and pain, sweat beeding on his forehead, mixing with the blood…_

_I smiled, and raised the knife to his facem seeing recognition in his eyes as I balanced the very tip of the knife at the top of his scar._

"_How much do you think _this _will hurt?"_

_He thrashed, and I slowly, carefully, traced the white line with the knife. When I was finished, I sat back, amongst all the blood._

"_You thought you understood me, Simon." I murmured quietly, my lips at his ear. "You thought you understood how much pain I've been through, and used me through that. But I tell you now, this isn't even the half of it."_

"_Please." I gasped._

_I smiled one last time. "Goodbye, Simon." I said, before plunging the knife right into his heart._

Of course, I had to leave the orphanage after that. There was no point even going back. I was never going to wear the orphange uniform ever again.

I kept them all in my mind though, those foolish girls, that stupid motherly Matron. And I returned.

I tied them all up, slitting their throats, and hung them from bunk beds, repeating the image I'd made years ago with dolls, slicing off their hair, let's blood run from the corner of their eyes, like tears.

I let one, a small blond seven-year old scream untl Maron came runnin, before stabbing her when I heard Matron outside the door.

_I hid behind the door as she raced into the middle of the room, as she took in the scene, and then stared with horror at the sight of her mutilated 'children'._

_I slowly swung the door shut, and she turned slowly, knowing who it was before she saw me. Her eyes wee fearful._

"_Isabelle." She said, tears streaming down her face. "What have you-what have-what-" She fainted, and I heaved her up over my shoulder, grimacing at how heavy she was, and then carried her to her office._

_I tipped the vase of flowers over head, and then forced her to tell me where the old school teacher lived. She sobbed as she answered. "Silverstream Road- please, Isabella, I only wanted what was best for you-"_

"_Good." I said, smiling. And then I stabbed her. I stood over her lifeless, still bleeding body, and considered._

_Why stop there?_

_I pulled her limp body, up against the wall behind her desk, and drove bothe my knives into her wrists, so she was pinned there, hangling by her wrists, just like her beloved Jesus._

_Blood dripped down the wall…_

**Um. Hi… I know it's morbid… but this is basically what this fan fiction is about… and I know it doesn't have anything to do with Twilight, yet, but that bits coming, so yeah.**

**Be PATIENT. And please hit the review button :)**

**x**


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